we held down miles of my own vomit
just to get my rocket in the pocket of every pretty lady in town.
(maybe no one hugged me enough as a child,
or maybe some one did too much)
complain to the scissors, bite the skirt sleeve.
let’s see the look on your face when i make it work.
if every woman was a continent, i would be napoleon.
yeah your body’s the sea for me to navigate.
i want to be the superb qualities to your three pronged fingertips.
i’ll be the ashtray to love’s unfiltered cigarettes,
like the k-9 nose to your crotch.
i want to watch you undress through the keyhole.
you make me cum like never before.
blah blah blah blah.